


Stolen Moments

by House of Halation (glasshibou)



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Beach Sex, F/M, anyway you're right lucifer truly was very cruel, i had anakin skywalker whispering in my ear the whole time as i was writing this, related to the beach event, this is definitely pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasshibou/pseuds/House%20of%20Halation
Summary: For every day of every year of your life, the sunset has been something that you took for granted. The sun rises and sets, almost literal clockwork, and while you think it’s very pretty, it’s not something that you ever really bothered to stare in awe at. It will be there tomorrow, after all. Nothing extraordinarily special.And then you were all but kidnapped to hell—sorry, the Devildom—and you haven’t seen the sun in months.---For a tumblr anon, who said:Fem MC x Mammon. After the bonfire during the beach event, MC and Mammon sneak away from the others to go skinny dipping in the ocean. (this is me, begging for gratuitous beach sex after Luci's curse crushed all my dreams)
Relationships: Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Kudos: 72





	Stolen Moments

For every day of every year of your life, the sunset has been something that you took for granted. The sun rises and sets, almost literal clockwork, and while you think it’s very pretty, it’s not something that you ever really bothered to stare in awe at. It will be there tomorrow, after all. Nothing extraordinarily special.

And then you were all but kidnapped to hell—sorry,  _ the Devildom _ —and you haven’t seen the sun in  _ months. _ You spend what might be considered an unnatural amount of time watching it slip down below the horizon (which, Lucifer explained when you asked, is all entirely artificial; the Devildom has no natural sun, after all) and you watch the illusion turn the vibrant ocean waters into liquid gold. 

Satan rekindles the fire he started earlier, stoking it into a bonfire that spits heat out into the air around it, keeping the chill from the night at bay. You’re thankful for it; the demons don’t seem to mind how cold things can get (or how hot, either, by the way Beelzebub is standing so close to the flames) but  _ you _ don’t appreciate either freezing or roasting to death. The bikini Asmodeus gave you is still sopping wet from the day’s activities, and while your clothes are  _ mostly _ dry, they’re not  _ entirely _ dry. 

Belphegor is asleep on his towel in the sand—to absolutely nobody’s surprise—while Leviathan and Beelzebub are roasting an absurd number of marshmallows. Most of them will likely be going to Beelzebub. You’re ready to go back and get out of the sand now that the warmth from the magic is gone, but none of the brothers still around the fire seem keen to leave. You circle your arms around your legs and curl yourself up tight, staring into the roaring flames.

“Ya wanna go somewhere else?”

The bump against your shoulder pulls your attention back to the here-and-now, and you turn your head to see that Mammon has placed himself in the sand right beside you, legs splayed as always. You hum in thought and lean against him, turning your gaze back to the fire.

“Maybe. I think so,” you say with a half shrug. The only other place to really go is back to the inn, with all of the warmth and the baths that entails, but… At the same time, you don’t really want the night to end. He stiffens for a moment when you first touch him and then relaxes when you don’t immediately move away as if you’ve made a mistake. Mammon wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. 

“Lucky for  _ you, _ the Great Mammon knows a  _ great _ place to hang out,” he says, pride and boyish excitement suffusing his voice as he tosses a towel over his shoulder. You laugh a little and allow yourself to be pulled up alongside him. 

“Oh? And where is this?” You half expect him to offer to take you on another ‘date’ in his room before you remember that you’re all sharing rooms this time. Surely, not even demons would be okay with… Well,  _ that. _

“Just… Y’know,” Mammon says with a careless wave off into the distance, not actually answering your question at all. That might be the best you get until you actually reach wherever it is he wants to take you. After your day of swimming and playing, you sort of hope it’s not another one of his adventures; you’re not sure you can outrun Cerberus or any angry creditors right now. 

Regardless, you follow his lead and walk beside him. None of the other demon brothers follow after you—which probably has more to do with the fact that they’re either asleep, preoccupied, or pacified by the way Mammon waves the hand that isn’t holding yours at them. It’s so strange to be alone with only one of your host demons that you feel almost giddy with the strangeness of it. 

Silence falls between both of you ask you continue to walk, only the hiss of the surf as it kisses the shore serving to give you something to listen to. That, and the faint, somewhat angry shouts you recognize as a hungry Beelzebub. Maybe someone ate some of his marshmallows, you muse as you turn to look.

The fire is little more than a pinprick of light behind you, the shouts faint as they’re carried to you over the sandy beach. Far enough away to feel completely and utterly alone, but near enough to others to know that you’re not. 

“Have anything in mind?” It’s almost a trick question because of  _ course _ he has something in mind… But sometimes it’s as simple as him wanting you to hold him or affirm to him that he really is the Great Mammon. A smile steals across your lips. 

“We could go swimmin’,” Mammon suggests as if you’re not almost to the point of shivering in your wet clothes or only able to see any of your surroundings thanks to the huge Devildom moon that hangs low in the sky. 

“I’m cold,” you point out. “And I think the water is probably cold, too.” Not that it would matter to Mammon. 

“I’ll keep ya warm,” Mammon says, his voice dropping into that husky tone that sends shivers down your spine as he toys with the tie of your top. It’s the fact that he doesn’t remind you that he’s a great and powerful demon that makes you realize he’s  _ serious; _ Mammon only ever drops the act (which isn’t really an act—there’s always more than just a grain of truth to his boasts) when you’re alone and he really means something. Still… you’d be only an inquisitive brother away from being caught…

But maybe that’s part of the thrill, having the semi-real risk looming over your heads. 

“Hmm,” you bite your lip and pretend to mull over his suggestion of a moonlit swim, wondering how long you should draw it out—or if you even should. Mammon is patient and his confidence is almost unshakeable… until it comes to you. “I don’t know,” you say, reaching up to cover the hand playing with your swimsuit tie. “My suit is almost dry and everything, so…”

Mammon’s fingers twitch as he pulls away, the disappointment that he tries to hide from you still clear on his face. 

“I think I’ll just have to go without, don’t you?”

The surprise on his face melts into delighted glee as you tug at the tie, letting the top half of your suit fall from your body. Your bottoms are quick to follow, tossed from where they rest around your ankles onto the sand you previously wanted to avoid. But he’s too busy watching you to follow your lead, a lopsided smile plastered over his face as if you’d just presented him with a king’s ransom of gold. He doesn’t even move as you step closer to the surf, letting it lap around your ankles. 

“You coming?” You quirk a brow at him, knowing that he’ll be able to see the expression in the moonlight. Like you’ve broken a spell he starts, springing into motion after you as you wade deeper into the ocean water. Like you’d feared, it’s cold. Not quite frigid, but definitely colder than is comfortable to be submersed in for too long. You’re in up to your knees by the time he catches up to you. The splashing that heralds his approach almost makes you laugh. 

You walk further into the black waters of the ocean and motion for him to follow along after you until you’re both in deep enough that the gentle waves roll almost up to the bottom of your ribcage.

“There aren’t any monsters around here, right?” It never hurts to be a little extra cautious in the Devildom; even with a demon with you, you’d rather not stumble upon something while feeling so vulnerable.

“Nah. Still at Diavolo’s beach. Magic keeps everything away.” But he looks out into the dark waves as if he’s looking for fins and sharp teeth. You shudder and lean into him, searching for the warmth he always throws off. Swimming doesn’t sound so bad now, if the movement can help to work heat back into your muscles. Swimming or… something else, maybe. It’s been a  _ long _ day of watching the inhumanely beautiful demons walk around in next to nothing. 

“Good,” you tell him, using the gentle swell of an unbroken wave to allow yourself to be drawn out further into the ocean. You can still touch the ocean floor when the tepid crests pass you by, and you use the opportunity to look over your shoulder, only to see that he’s still following you. It’s exactly the reaction you were expecting. What you weren’t expecting was the way his eyes are locked onto your form like you’re made entirely of silver and gold, the gleam of it reflecting in his eyes. 

Heat floods your face and the sudden change makes a shudder roll down you. Maybe you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to be alone with him after a day full of mutual teasing; Asmodeus  _ did  _ call him an animal that one time…

But would that really be so bad?

Mammon comes to stand behind you, slinging his arms low around you so that only his wrists cross. He lowers his head against the side of your face until you think that he might rest his chin on your shoulder. Instead, he presses his lips almost against your ear, scraping the shell of it with his teeth. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see Asmo gettin’ close with you earlier,” he says, pulling his hands up the curves of your body until they settle on your breasts. A breath catches in your throat as he tweaks both of your raised nipples with his thumbs. “He do somethin’ like this?”

Mammon waits for a swell of ocean water to lift your feet from the sandy ocean floor to press his knee between your legs. His hands are tight on your hips to ensure that you can’t wriggle out of his grasp. 

“No,” you tell him, voice too breathless already. The salt from the ocean is strong on your lips. Mammon hums low in his throat as if filing that information away. The ghost of a smile crosses his lips, but he fights it away. 

“Hands were on the floatie, so I know he didn’t do somethin’ like  _ this, _ ” he whispers into your ear, sliding a hand across your pelvis and down until one of his fingers finds your slit. He pauses, as if waiting for you to push him away or pull from his grasp. When you don’t, he presses his fingers in until he finds your clit, rolling over it gently.

“He didn’t,” you gasp out with a shudder that has nothing to do with the chill of the water. You’d reach behind you to stroke him in the same way, but he has you pressed firmly against him. His cock settles against the small of your back. “Mammon, I—”

“And Belphie was gettin’ real cozy,” Mammon drawls as if you haven’t spoken at all, continuing his ministrations. You grind your teeth together to keep a low moan from slipping out of you, choosing instead to grind against him. You know you’ve managed to get him when he stiffens behind you and starts to stir fully to life, his other hand tracing over where Belphegor’s mouth had been only a few hours ago. The avatar of sloth’s method of cleaning you up hadn’t been innocent by any means, but this is absolutely indecent. 

“I thought we were going to swim,” you say as Mammon drops your wrist to return his hand to a nipple. Your voice is thick even as you try to keep any heat from it. 

“Thought we were,” Mammon agrees casually. “Then some human decided to strip an’ be all teasin’.” You groan because it’s just like him to pass the blame off onto someone else, even if it’s a futile effort. 

“Let go,” you order petulantly, grinding back against him to hopefully get your message across. Mammon does, reluctantly and after a pause. For the briefest of moments you think that he might just give into his more demonic inclinations and keep his grip tight on you. 

But he doesn’t, so you use the freedom to turn on the spot so that your chests are pressed together. 

“I want you to kiss me,” you admit, looking up into his eyes. With the moonlight coming down and reflecting off the water, they look almost like they gleam. You hold his gaze because this is always— _ always _ —when something either interrupts you or he gets shy. And you do  _ not _ want him to get shy and back off right now. Not when he’s been so bold just moments ago. 

He doesn’t look away and he doesn’t close his eyes as he lowers his face to yours. You taste warm sugar from the marshmallows and sea salt and the almost metallic taste that is uniquely Mammon. He breathes heavily and it’s gratifying to know exactly how much you’re affecting him, and that you have the same effect as he does on you.

“Not in the water,” you manage to gasp around his mouth. Mammon hooks his arms under your legs and lifts you up so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. You’ve seen the demons use their strength before, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s able to lift you as easily as he would a throw pillow, but it still makes you take a sudden, sharp breath. He walks out of the water just as easily, where you would have to struggle to extract yourself from the current. 

Before the temperature change from the ocean to open air can bother you too much, Mammon lowers you to the towel he abandoned earlier and follows you soon after. He covers your body with his and one his his hands snakes down to the apex of your thighs. You reach up and stroke the expanse of his chest, appreciating his model’s physique. 

“You’re wet,” he says, sounding almost surprised as he runs his fingers through your slick. You fight the pout from your face and the urge to buck your hips up against his touch. 

“We  _ were _ just in the ocean,” you point out, but you know that he’s right as you writhe underneath his hands. He makes a sharp noise with his lips against his teeth that tells you he doesn’t believe you  _ at all _ —or at least, he doesn’t want to believe you. Just in case you’ve wounded his confidence, you reach down and palm him, finding a thick vein that you stroke with your fingertip. He shudders above you and rests on his elbows, pressing his forehead against yours. Shared breath ghosts across your face as you grin against him, finding his leaking slit sightlessly. Mammon growls something and bats your hand away as you draw another full-body tremor from him. 

“Said I’d take care of ya,” you hear him remind you with a throaty grumble as he lines himself up with you entrance. 

“So do it,” you challenge with a small shimmy of your hips, daring him to take a moment longer.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he presses inside of you slowly, almost agonizingly, as you work to accommodate the new fullness. Mammon pauses halfway but presses forward when you don’t offer any resistance. When he’s fully sheathed he pauses for a moment before setting an almost punishing pace, which you try—and mostly fail—to meet. 

“Mammon, I—” but whatever you’re about to say is forgotten when you cut yourself off with a squeal. 

“You're mine, right? The Great Mammon’s?” He says it like he’s telling rather than asking, panting out the words in between steady thrusts.  _ Yeah, _ you try to say, but all that comes out is something between an undignified squeak and a moan. You grab his biceps in an attempt to steady yourself, locking your legs around his because he’s the only thing you have to hold onto at the moment. 

“Say it,” he says, low in your ear but still drowning out the in-out-in-out shushing noises of the ocean and the way his skin slaps against your own. 

“‘M yours,” you affirm, your voice little more than a breathy sigh as heat builds and spirals at your core. Hips canted to meet his easier, you know that it won’t be much longer for you. “Mammon’s,” you add, thinking of his penchant of speaking in the third person, thinking that it feels like you’re announcing it not only to him, but to anyone and anything that happened to be listening. 

Mammon gives you a savage, pleased grin as he reaches down, stroking your clit with steady circles that make you shudder, clenching around him when he adds a little more pressure. Heady pleasure rolls through you like a riptide, discarding any modesty that you might have had before as you cry out into the night.

But you don’t have a chance to collect yourself or catch your breath; he fucks you through your orgasm, biting his lip to keep from making any noises that would spoil your own. You whimper beneath him, nails digging into his arms as you wordlessly beg for release of one kind or another. 

He grunts above you and then almost falls on top of you as he releases. You brace for the impact that doesn’t come; instead, he rolls off to the side at the last minute, throwing one arm over you and the other out onto the sand. 

“Still mine?” He asks. You smile and murmur that you are as you try to sit up, but he keeps you pressed down against the towel. “‘Course ya are,” he says as if you haven’t spoken at all. The soft hissing of the waves against the sound is all that you can hear for a few moments until he stirs again. 

“Here,” Mammon says, voice oddly tight as if he hadn’t just been inside of you or his cum isn’t leaking out onto the towel beneath you. He drops another smooth seashell into your hands, much like the others he found earlier in the day. This one is shot through with silvery threads. You roll over and hold it above his gaze between two fingers.

“Think I should turn it into a necklace?” You dip down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth., enjoying the way he’s soft below you. There are a thousand thoughts swimming behind his eyes, but you know you’ll be lucky if he actually voices even one of them. “You know, to commemorate. And that way, when I wear it in public—”

His blue-gold eyes go wide and then narrow at the way you’re teasing, and a hand to cover your mouth is quick to follow. 

“‘Course I want you to wear it,” he scoffs as if heat isn’t suffusing his face at the thought. “But don’t expect a present every time, ya know? I’m a busy guy.” You snort in laughter, trying to figure out if he’s just killed whatever mood you both had between you.

“Guess you’ll just have to be my present, then,” you say, voicing the words he just barely avoided saying himself. Let him preen, you decide. He still has to figure out a way of sneaking you both back to your rooms, after all. 


End file.
